The Distance From Here
by Pied Piper
Summary: You're going to marry her, aren't you?


**The Distance From Here**

* * *

**Summary**: "You're going to marry her, aren't you?"

* * *

"I find the map and draw a straight line

Over rivers, farms, and state lines;

The distance from 'here' to where you'd be,

It's the only finger-lengths I see."

_Set the Fire to the Third Bar, by Snow Patrol ft. Martha Wainwright_

* * *

Towards the end of his third lap, the young man slowed to a reluctant, defeated stop and leaned back, hands on his waist, bones aching as he stretched his back. He was frustrated by his pain and tiredness, but even now he had to admit he could not take any more. He might have been able to reach his goal of five laps, but his knee felt like it was going to explode, and the pain tore through his body with a pounding fierceness. With a sad sigh, he pulled out his earphones and limped off the track to the bench where he'd left his belongings.

Motomiya Daisuke was nothing if not stubborn. When he had injured his knee during a bad tackle in a friendly neighborhood game, he hadn't thought much of it. Then the pain got worse, making his work even more difficult, and it was later at the doctor's that he discovered how much damage he'd done by ignoring the pain for so long. So now, months after his last surgery, when his physical therapist had remarked that he was pushing his rehabilitation too much, he had privately accepted the man's caution as an unspoken challenge to be a more proactive patient. Every night after that diagnosis, he had left work precisely when the restaurant closed shop at one o'clock, came back to his old high school's outdoor track, stripped out of his stained cook's uniform, wrapped up his bad knee in athletic tape, and set off on his laps.

By his next appointment the following week, he was determined to show his therapist wrong. He was going to show he could run like he used to, that he wasn't a lost medical cause, that he hadn't lost his famed talents. Daisuke was going to prove to anyone he could find that he hadn't changed, that he would not.

It took his a moment to search through the bag and find his water bottle, now lukewarm from the summer heat. He drank from it gratefully anyway, gulping down the entirety without pausing once. At the last large sip he choked, parched throat constricting, and bent over, rubbing his wheezing chest.

He stared at his bandaged knee, breathing heavily. Resentment and frustration swelled inside him, the corners of his eyes prickling. He gritted his teeth against the outburst, free hand curling into a fist on his good knee.

It was now two in the morning, and the city was dark and hollow.

If he wanted, he knew, he could have screamed and no one would have heard him.

His phone rang then, loudly screaming the chorus of a popular tune from his niece's favorite television show. She had gotten a hold of his cellular and managed to reprogram the ringtone, a feat that had astounded Daisuke. He was never good at computers or electronics, and it astonished him how quickly newer generations of children were taking to these devices better than fish to water.

He could do without the cheerful gooeyness of the theme song she had chosen for his phone, though. When his co-workers heard at the restaurant, peals of laughter sounded so loudly that Daisuke had to threaten them with the worst of the clean-up duties to get them to stop, and even then they still snickered to themselves. But for the life of him, he could not figure out how to get his old ringtone back. He would have to take it back to his sister's house and have one those rascally kids do it for him. The thought was unbearable.

When he finally found the phone, the call had been sent to voicemail. He also noticed that through the course of a busy day at work, he had missed several texts, one other call, and even a few emails.

He checked his emails first.

The first was from the wife of his best friend. She always composed her emails like a vindictive neurotic, and this was no exception.

**_From: Ichijoji Miyako_**

**_To: Motomiya Daisuke_**

**_Date: Yesterday at 8:36PM_**

**_Subject: I Know What You're Doing _**

_Daisuke, stop sending my children chocolate. They've gotten seven cavities between the three of them now, and you're the only one who give them candy. I know you sneak it to them. I haven't figured out how yet, but it can only be you doing this, and you may consider this a warning. _

_Miyako_

_P.S. I really fucking mean it, Daisuke. NO MORE CHOCOLATE._

In spite of the throbbing ache of his body, Daisuke was grinning. He made a mental note to find more secure packaging from the restaurant on his next shift. He had been rewrapping candy and sweets in the white paper and healthy eats labels the restaurant was famous for, but if Miyako had her suspicions aroused, he was going to have to be more creative. A house without chocolate. He shook his head mournfully at the thought. Someone had to think of the children.

The next email was from his doctor, and Daisuke's smile faded as he read the short memo.

**_From: Kido Jyou_**

**_To: Motomiya Daisuke_**

**_Date: Yesterday at 9:00PM_**

**_Re: Rehab Schedule _**

_Evening, Daisuke. I just got your email. I first want to make it clear that both I and your physical therapist want you back on your feet, healthy and able, as much as you do. The rehabilitation schedule we've worked out to get you there is the best way to do this without causing more damage to an already strenuous injury. At this time, I could not in good faith advise you to make the changes you requested in your earlier email. Recovery is always difficult, and I understand how you might be feeling, but as your doctor, I strongly believe this is the right plan for your situation. Give me a call in the morning, and we'll talk about it. _

_Take care of yourself._

_Dr Kido._

Daisuke sent the email to the trash folder, blinking furiously. Then he paused, rubbing his knee, and restored it to the inbox. Maybe he'd call back in a few days.

He leaned back on the bench, slouching tiredly, and started to go through his texts.

**_Ichijoji Ken_**

_Yesterday 10:26PM_

_Sorry about that email. Kids had the dentist today and after that bill I think Miyako was hunting for blood lol. Talk later._

**_Tachikawa Mimi_**

_Yesterday 11:05_

_I tried making that new noodle recipe you sent. It didn't turn out that great…._

Daisuke's eyes widened when he saw the accompanying picture for her text. A very clammy looking man was puking into her bathroom sink. Mimi had poked her head into the corner of the picture and was grinning, tossing up a peace sign cheerfully, while the man behind her held up his middle finger at both her and the camera, which Daisuke took to mean was also directed at himself.

The next text confirmed it:

**_Yagami Taichi_**

_Yesterday 11:13_

_I do not like being a guinea pig for these culinary experiments. I'm getting flashbacks from the warzone of my mother's kitchen. Stop doing this to me, man._

**_Tachikawa Mimi_**

_Yesterday 11:21_

_He's fine, no worries, just a fussy tummy. Big baby._

**_Yagami Taichi_**

_Yesterday 11:23_

_Is this what death feels like?!_

**_Tachikawa Mimi_**

_Today 12:38_

This time, there was only a picture. It included another smiling Mimi bearing another happy peace sign, her big round eyes beaming brightly at the camera, while the clammy looking man, who appeared even sicklier now, was curled into a chair in the waiting room of the local clinic, clutching his stomach. She had edited the picture to include the caption: _Apparently emergency rooms don't hand out lollipops. The more you know._

Daisuke shook his head, smirking, and opened the last two texts.

His heart stopped.

**_Takaishi Takeru_**

_Today 2:08_

_We broke up._

**_Yagami Hikari_**

_Today 2:19_

_I told him no._

Daisuke lowered his hand to his lap, staring into the dark and silent track. He was still sweating, but he wasn't uncomfortably warm anymore. He felt a cold wave slip over him, and he closed his eyes, breathing calmly.

In truth, he'd been expecting this for a while. They had not been on the best of terms recently, appearing at events as normal, but lately that gleam of happiness in his blue eyes had faded, and her mouth was always pressed in a thin line, brows creased with stress.

Even if he saw it, though, he wasn't going to point it out. He knew better than to say something about it, especially when he had no gradient to measure what the reaction would be. Daisuke was not welcoming to change, and the biggest change he could not handle was losing a friend. He wasn't going to go through that again by opening his big mouth at the wrong time.

But now, he knew he couldn't not say anything. The texts were there, plain and simple, and the events he'd been anticipating with a strange and paralyzing mix of apprehension and hope now faced him like open doors to a new chapter. Even after all these years, though, Daisuke still wasn't ready to turn the page.

He opened his eyes again and looked at his phone, rubbing his knee absentmindedly. He turned to the missed calls now, and saw that they were both from the same number. He knew that number by heart, even if he hadn't dialed it in months. He did not dial it now either, choosing to listen to the voicemail first.

Hikari's voice was unnaturally low and thick, as though she'd been crying. Daisuke's tightened in his chest when he heard the pain in it, and he tried not to imagine her sitting on the floor of her one bedroom flat, mouse brown hair pulled back into a thin ponytail, eyes red and puffy, left hand now bare. He hated hearing her cry. He hated making her cry even more.

"Hi, it's me," the voicemail played back. "I'm...well, you're probably asleep. Call me when you can. I'll be up."

Daisuke took a deep breath and called her back.

She answered almost immediately, and she did so with relief in her voice. She had been waiting for him. "Daisuke?"

"Sorry, I had my earplugs in and didn't hear the phone."

"That's okay," she said. She paused, "You weren't running again, were you?"

Daisuke scrambled for an excuse. "No! I was just—out, enjoying this lovely—the lovely sunset."

"You mean the one that happened while you were at work?"

"Yes, that one."

"Well, it was lovely."

"See? Told you."

She laughed, and he felt his spirits rising at the sound of it. But he knew they'd have to talk about it before long. So he continued after a sheepish chuckle. "But I just saw your text."

Her laugh faded. "Oh, that."

"You told him no."

It was less a question than a restatement of the facts, so she didn't confirm anything. Instead she said, "I just couldn't...live like that anymore. You know?"

Daisuke nodded before he remembered that she wouldn't be able to hear a nod over the phone. "Yeah, I know."

They were both quiet, and then suddenly she was pouring out a fountain of words, emotions, and regrets, so unexpectedly that Daisuke was almost too shocked to process what she was blurting out.

"I haven't even told anyone else. You were the first person I thought to call and I—I know I don't have a right to ask you this, but you were the only one I thought who might—might understand. Did I do the right thing?"

"You have to trust yourself more, Hikari," he said as kindly as he could muster. His words still came out awkward and forced, but she didn't seem to hear that. "You know what you need. If he's not that, then...then he's just not."

Her voice fell to a whisper, "You should have seen his face when I gave him back his ring."

But Daisuke didn't have to imagine his face. He knew what that expression looked like, what it felt like, and what it did. He'd seen it on his own face once before, and the pain of that rejection had been unbearable. Even the memory of it turned his stomach to lead.

He pushed the thoughts from his mind.

"Do you want me to come over?" he asked.

She had started crying again but, in typical Hikari-fashion, was trying to hide it. "No, you need to go to bed. You had a double shift at the restaurant today, didn't you?"

Daisuke smiled a little. It was just like Hikari to be concerned about everyone else when her own life was falling apart. "Give me twenty minutes."

"No, really—,"

"Already on my way."

"I will be fine."

"Too late!"

"Daisuke—,"

"I'll be there before you can change your mind anyway. I know you, Hikari. You're not fine. That's okay," he clarified quickly. "But you won't want to be alone right now, and I'm not going to let you be by yourself. I've got you."

She paused. "Yeah, you do."

Daisuke promised to be quick, rising to his feet. He tossed the cell phone back in his bag and grabbed the strap, slinging the heavy luggage over his shoulder.

The night was getting colder, seeping into his bones as he carefully made his way off the track, through the chain-link gate, and onto the sidewalk towards his apartment nearby. If he walked quickly, he'd have enough time to shower the sweat and dirt off, change the bandages on his knee and put on thicker clothes before hailing a cab across town to her apartment complex. He tried to pick up his pace, pushing himself forward even as his knee throbbed from the recent exertion and the now hurried pace he kept to keep his promise to her.

He would have kept his promise, too, if it hadn't been for the surprise waiting for him on the curb outside his flat.

Takeru had his head bowed low, his hands clasped in front of him, elbows balanced on his knees, but when he heard Daisuke approach, he raised his face. He was pale, his nose pink from the cold air, and his blue eyes were blazing. He looked miserable and zealous at the same time, a strange combination on a strikingly handsome young face.

Daisuke stopped a few yards from him, close enough to see that determined look in the man's earnest face.

Takeru ran a shivering hand through thick blond hair and let out a shaky laugh, "I knew you'd be out running. Didn't your doctor tell you to take it easy?"

Daisuke was suspicious and ignored the pleasantries. "What are you doing here?"

Takeru was still smiling, but it was a weak and disillusioned smirk. "You tell me."

"You've been drinking."

Takeru nodded enthusiastically, then bowed his head again, as though in shame. Daisuke still did not approach him.

He thought of Hikari, wrapped up in her blankets and all alone, waiting for him.

"Hikari and Koushiro broke up," he said suddenly, surprising even himself with how willingly and unexpectedly he stated the news.

But Takeru didn't look up this time. "Did she call you?"

"Yeah. She's not doing too well. I was just on my way over."

"You were always a good friend."

Daisuke did not respond to the bait, and Takeru put his head in his hands, rubbing his ears like he was trying to block out the sounds around him.

"Well, you should go then. First dibs, and all that."

"You shouldn't be here, Takeru."

"You're going to marry her, aren't you?" he interrupted, lifting his face at last again, chin propped up in his palm, blue eyes piercing into Daisuke's brown gaze, like a knife. "One day." He laughed. "You know, once, Hikari and I made a bet. One of us would get you. I think I always thought…well, anyway."

Daisuke said nothing, his face warm. He did not like where this conversation was going, or where this night was going, for that matter, and it only made it worse to see Takeru in the state he was in now.

And Takeru's voice had a strange quality to it, too, a foreign sharpness so unlike his normal cheerful self that Daisuke wanted to block his ears from listening anymore.

This wasn't the real Takeru, but he had gone through something awful today, too, and people didn't behave like themselves when they were in pain. Daisuke knew this all too well. Even the obsession he had with his knee, he knew, was just another example of the kind of neurotic grasp for control over the realities of life that slipped through and tore everything apart.

"She's my friend," he said at last.

The sharpness was gone. "What about me?"

Daisuke looked at his feet, shuffling them like an awkward teenager. "Of course, you are."

"You always mumble when you lie."

His face flushed with anger this time. "I'm not lying."

"And I'm not just your friend." His eyes weren't shining anymore. "Am I?"

Daisuke didn't answer, pulling on the strap of his bag. He didn't want to revisit that subject. It had been years since they'd first encountered it, and he wasn't going to let those blue eyes change him now. "I really have to go. She's waiting for me."

Takeru sighed into his hands, hiding his face. "I'll just wait here, then."

"No, you're drunk and you're going home."

"Can't I come with you?" he asked in a pleading voice.

Daisuke was startled. He looked at Takeru carefully, and saw that the man was scared, his thin face belying an expression that simply begged not to be alone.

With a frustrated look, Daisuke raised his chin and kept his voice flat. "Fine." Then he raised a finger in warning, shaking it at the other man threateningly. "But if you say one wrong word to her—,"

Takeru was shaking his head. "I promise. I won't." Then he laughed again, "We can console each other. The broken hearts club, reunited once more."

Daisuke felt the lump in his throat swell and he wisely chose to leave the remark alone. Muttering to Takeru to wait there, he left the other man on the sidewalk to rush up to his apartment. He threw the bag down on the ratty old couch, tearing out of his clothes and putting on a new T-shirt and jeans. He grabbed his wallet and keys and hopped back down the stairs moments later, finding Takeru exactly where he'd left him. He walked to him now and placed a hand on his shoulder, lifting him to his feet. "Come on, we're taking a taxi."

Takeru mumbled something incoherent, and Daisuke quickly removed his hand from the other man's arm. He kept his pace steady but quick, while the blond trailed after him, sniffling in the cold. They found an empty cab at the next corner, and, after telling the driver the address, Daisuke pushed Takeru in first, purposely being rough to demonstrate his annoyance. Takeru didn't pick up on the irritation though. Instead, he sank into Daisuke's side once they bundled up in the backseat and were on their way, his blond curls tickling Daisuke's chin. He was still muttering to himself.

Daisuke cleared his throat. "What did you say?"

"You're always taking care of people."

Daisuke had noticed this about himself lately too.

He grumbled, "Yeah, because none of you seem to be able to do it on your own."

"You like it."

This time, Daisuke didn't protest. "You're my friends."

Takeru whispered, eyes shut, "You're more than that."

"Am I?" said Daisuke calmly, even as his heart leaped up into his throat with hope.

Takeru's fingers found their way to Daisuke's swollen knee. "Someone has to take care of you, too."

Daisuke stared at his hand on his knee. Takeru's fingers were pale and long, not like his own stubby and tan hands. He wanted to take that hand in his own, the way he should have years before. Instead, he curled his own hand into a fist in his lap and said with as much calm cheer as he could muster, "I've got you and Hikari. Don't think I'm just going to sit around listening to you both all night without something in return."

Takeru's lips formed a smile against Daisuke's neck, and the latter shivered at the feeling.

"I should have told you yes," was the confession Takeru whispered next, voice so soft Daisuke had to strain to hear it, even as close as they were sitting now. His voice was trembling again. "Back then…I should have said yes."

Daisuke turned away to stare out the darkened window of the cab. He felt something wet slide down his neck, but he didn't know who Takeru was crying for, so he kept his mouth closed. It was more difficult than he thought it would be, staying still and quiet when all he wanted was to kiss him back.

If there was one thing Daisuke had learned over the years, it was to not keep torches for lost causes.

But he was too stubborn to keep that lesson learnt. He forgot it constantly, especially when he had to look in eyes this blue.

The cab came to a stop and he gently pried himself out of Takeru's grasp, taking him by the elbow and leading him out onto the sidewalk.

The blond man looked around with confusion.

"Wait," he said slowly, "this isn't where Hikari lives."

Daisuke just shook his head.

Takeru stepped back from him, his face streaked with tear tracks and his expression of deep shock.

"You should give it another chance," said Daisuke quietly, because it was true and because he needed to remind himself where the lines were.

"You're telling me no," said Takeru, in that foreign, sharp voice again.

Daisuke hated that voice, and he hated the way Takeru was looking at him now, and he hated how much this hurt.

Not trusting himself to speak, he just nodded, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans.

"I thought you—," but Takeru stopped himself mid-sentence.

Daisuke filled in the rest for him, silently. "I don't want to see you end things with Willis for the wrong reasons."

It had taken the last of his courage to say that to him.

Now that he had, he did not want to look into those blue eyes anymore, not with the way they seemed to see right through him.

So he turned away, walking back to the waiting taxi. He paused at the door and glanced back to see Takeru still staring at him, face unreadable. He thought of saying something, but decided against it, closing the door behind him. He leaned against the window, his knee aching, watching Takeru's reflection fade from the glass.

He rubbed his face dry as the car pulled into the lot beside Hikari's complex. He paid the driver and thanked him, then climbed out of the cab and made his way to the fourth floor, knocking on the third door from the staircase. Hikari answered after a moment, dressed up in her pajamas and her hair tied back, just as he had pictured her. She threw her arms around him the minute she saw him, and he pulled her close, lifting her into his arms. He carried her slowly across the threshold like a child, sitting on the couch with her still wrapped up in his lap, his pounding knee stretched out before him and aching in that dull, throbbing way that memories and regrets often did, too.

They didn't speak for a long time, but the broken hearts club never needed to talk.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Just a one-shot. I know there were a few twists, but that's what I like. Thanks for reading.


End file.
